


War-Zone Shopping

by airebellah



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bilbo is So Done, Black Friday shopping chaos, First Meeting, Flirting, Fluff and Humor, Fluff without Plot, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, Sassy Bilbo Baggins, Thorin Has No Sense Of Direction, Thorin Is an Idiot, Thorin Oakenshield Is a Dork, Thorin is a Softie, Thorin is incredibly dramatic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 01:23:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8645752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airebellah/pseuds/airebellah
Summary: Bilbo was frozen in place as he stared at the carnage around him. The screams echoed in his ears, along with the blood pounding through his veins. The adrenaline had his heart thumping in his chest, but the shock immobilized his limbs.All around him, animals flung themselves at each other, snarling and snapping their teeth. Debris flew in the air and littered the ground, yet nobody noticed. No one seemed to notice the horror of the scene except Bilbo, who stood amongst a mass of people replaced by savages.It was Black Friday, and Primula had dragged Bilbo along with her to go shopping.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Over 3.5k of Thorin being embarrassingly dramatic.
> 
> As I live in Canada, I've never experienced Black Friday shopping chaos first-hand (the closest we get is Boxing Day). 
> 
> Thanks to [tea-blitz](tea-blitz.tumblr.com), who reviewed this fic and also brainstormed ideas (and the person whose conversation sparked this idea in the first place)

Bilbo was frozen in place as he stared at the carnage around him. The screams echoed in his ears, along with the blood pounding through his veins. The adrenaline had his heart thumping in his chest, but the shock immobilized his limbs.

All around him, animals flung themselves at each other, snarling and snapping their teeth. Debris flew in the air and littered the ground, yet nobody noticed. No one seemed to notice the horror of the scene except Bilbo, who stood amongst a mass of people replaced by savages.

It was Black Friday, and Primula had dragged Bilbo along with her to go shopping.

 _It’s not as bad as you think!_ she had said with a convincing smile.

Oh, no, Bilbo silently agreed. It’s much, _much_ worse.

Bilbo was quickly jolted from his spot in the middle of the department store when a box collided with his head. In a slight daze, he rubbed the rapidly aching spot and bent down, wondering what in Yavanna’s name had hit him.

“That’s mine!” a man growled, reaching down and snatching the boxed plastic doll before Bilbo was even close.

“A-Alright!” he stammered as he stood back up, hands thrown in the air in surrender. The man seemed appeased, stalking off with the discounted toy clutched tightly in his hand.

“Primula!” Bilbo shouted, turning to the rack he had seen her at moments ago, searching wildly through dresses and skirts haphazardly hanging from their hooks. “Prim?” he called again, storming over to the section. He began searching down the aisles, pushing up onto the tips of his toes to peer through the masses of people.

The more he looked, the further he went into the store. By the time he gave up, he was thoroughly lost, and boxed in by people on all sides. He no longer knew where he was, and an exit was nowhere in sight.

Bilbo took a deep breath, hands rubbing up and down his arms as he peered into the crowd of scavenging people. He now had but one choice: to face the swarming, ravenous horde of shoppers all alone.

 

Getting through the woman’s clothing section was by far the most terrifying experience of Bilbo’s life. The people crowded in until Bilbo thought he would suffocate from sickly-sweet perfume and fruity shampoo. He was rocked back and forth by the mob, forced to follow their crazed, desperate searching.

“Eighty percent off?” came a bewildered screech.

Like a mass of seagulls yelling “Mine!” from his little cousin’s favourite movie, the women were off, clawing and stomping their way to the latest sale. Bilbo protected his face with his hands, shoulders stiffening and knees locking as he tried to hold himself in place. Thankfully, it worked - the crowd soon dissipated, and Bilbo was left gasping in fresh air once more.

This time, he took off _running._

He gave the electronics and kid’s sections a wide berth - the screams came loudest from these two places. The crowd began to thin once it reached the men’s clothing department. Though it was nowhere near _calm_ , at least Bilbo could walk through it without risking hard objects being thrown at his head.

At the back of the store - at least, he hoped and _prayed_ it was the back, for how large could this Valar-forsaken place be? - he found the shoes.

Or, what was left of them.

Sneakers, boots, high-heels and flip-flops were scattered all over the floor, along with empty, broken boxes and tissue paper. It appeared the storm had already come and pass through this area, with only a few stragglers bothering to pick through the mis-matched remains.

Still, the peace seemed almost too good to be true. Bilbo’s neck prickled with the warning of oncoming danger. Looking over his shoulder, he could see the men’s department was growing more and more crowded. The mob seemed to be making its rounds.

Bilbo’s blood ran cold with one terrifying thought: there were _more_.

This carnage was the result of just a single group of crazed shoppers. But there would be more - Prim and he had arrived early, before the store had even opened. Already, the parking lot had been crowded with restless shoppers. But the day had barely started - more people would be joining in, forming groups that systematically hit every department, one at a time.

With a thick gulp, Bilbo looked around at the desolate remains of what was likely only round one. He needed to find somewhere to _hide._

Bilbo scanned down the aisles for something, _anything,_ to help him hide. As the end came upon him, he was filled with quickly-growing dread. Maybe if he just hid in a corner, they wouldn’t see him, they would just pass over him like an unwanted garden tool -

“Psst! Over here!”

Bilbo stopped, looking around the near-empty shelves, vaguely wondering if his short time in the battle zone was driving him mad. Then he saw it - or rather, _someone._ A face appeared between two empty shelves, a few aisles over. Bilbo barely had time to register the man’s large nose and bright blue eyes before he disappeared once more.

“Follow me!” came a gruff voice.

As the voices grew louder behind him, Bilbo had no choice but to follow the man, who darted in and out of aisles. Bilbo was soon mimicking his doubled-over posture and quick, light steps. The man soon came to a stop, crouching in front of a small hole in a huge pile of shoes. As he looked up, his long black hair fell from its holder at the nape of his neck, fashioned out of… string? But the picture was somehow _not_ ridiculous as he stared at Bilbo, thick brows pulled into a serious line.

“Are you serious?” Bilbo asked incredulously.

“Get in!” the man growled, motioning at the gap between boxes.

Glancing over his shoulder at the rapidly louder voices, Bilbo took a deep breath before falling to his knees and crawling inside. The mysterious man was right behind him, the two barely managing to squeeze inside. Then boxes were being shoved back into place, and they were left gasping inside the musty blackness.

“What makes you think they’re not going to attack your little fortress?” Bilbo asked.

The man scoffed, sounding far more insulted than Bilbo felt the comment deserved. “They’re Crocs,” he explained. “We may get one or two sniffing around, if we’re unlucky, but I doubt a hefty discount can tempt even the most addicted shoppers.”

Bilbo started to laugh, quickly covering his mouth at his companion’s hiss. “Sorry, sorry!” he whispered. “It’s just...this whole situation is rather ridiculous!”

“Have you not been out there?” the man retorted hotly. “This is no laughing matter!”

“You’re right.” Bilbo quickly sobered at the thought of being forced back outside. “I only wish I had thought to bring a flashlight - I’m not a fan of the dark, if I’m being honest.”

There was a click, and the makeshift room was filled with light.

“You’re not serious!” Bilbo exclaimed as he covered his burning eyes. “Who brings a flashlight shopping?”

“This isn’t shopping,” the man replied bitterly. “It’s war.”

As his eyes adjusted, Bilbo dropped his arms and truly took in his saviour’s appearance. The man’s black-and-silver hair was a disheveled mess, eyes red, clothes rumpled. “My goodness, you’re bleeding!” he gasped, noticing a clotted cut running down the man’s forehead and over his eye.

He shrugged in reply, seeming unfazed. “Someone threw a dress at me. With the hanger still attached.”

“Ouch!” Bilbo hissed sympathetically. “Well, you’re obviously more prepared than I am. What in Eru’s name could have made you come, if you knew it was so bad?”

The man’s rough, daunting visage melted away, replaced by a soft half-smile that lit up his eyes. “My nephews,” he admitted quietly.

“That’s so sweet,” Bilbo murmured, watching as the man scowled and looked away. “Ah, I’m Bilbo by the way! Bilbo Baggins!”

“Thorin Durin,” the man introduced in return, adding a slightly grumpy, “At your service, it would seem.”

“I have some food!” Bilbo exclaimed, tugging off his satchel and pulling open the worn fabric. “What do you want? Apples, granola bars, a few tarts, and two sandwiches!”

When Thorin didn’t immediately answer, Bilbo looked up, only to be pinned by a silent stare. “What?” he asked, nonplussed.

“You must be here with someone,” he finally replied, looking away as he rubbed at his dark beard.

“Hmm? Oh, well, yes. My cousin, actually. But don’t worry, this is just for me!”

“Do you normally pack so much food?” Thorin asked as Bilbo began dividing the food - a sandwich, a tart, two granola bars, and an apple each. Thorin bit into the sandwich after a very brief hesitation, practically groaning in what Bilbo hoped was approval.

“Why, this will hardly get me through to lunch!” Bilbo replied indignantly. Thorin snorted, but his expression quickly sobered at Bilbo’s seriousness. “A large appetite runs in my family,” he insisted, sniffing indignantly.

Thorin merely grunted, polishing off his sandwich in no time and unwrapping the homemade lemon tart. They continued to eat in silence, and it was not long before the mob was upon them. Thorin shut off the flashlight and both men set their food aside as they pressed against the cold, hard wall, listening to the shoe boxes quiver with the stomping footsteps. But as soon as the crowd came, they passed, uninterested in the rubbery, outdated shoes.

Bilbo sighed with relief, shooting Thorin a wide smile as they returned to eating.

 

“We can’t stay here forever, you know,” Bilbo said, after what felt like hours under the steadily warming pile of boxes.

Thorin scratched at his beard, a gesture that seemed to be an unconscious habit. “At least until closing,” he insisted.

But Bilbo shook his head. “I don’t know about you, but my bladder can’t hold until then.”

“Maybe we could -”

“Thorin!” Bilbo exclaimed. “Do not finish that sentence if it involves us… y’know! Into empty bottles or something!”  
Thorin’s eyes widened comically. “I was going to say we could stop drinking so much water!”

Bilbo bit his lip. “Oh,” he whispered.

The other man turned away, grumbling under his breath. “Well, I’m sorry! But you’ve practically gone full Rambo here - you can’t blame me for assuming the worse!”

Thorin continued to mutter indignantly. With a sigh, Bilbo slid over the remaining granola bar. His peace offering was begrudgingly accepted.

“Besides,” he continued only after Thorin had eaten a safe amount of food. “You still need to get that gift for your nephews, don’t you?”

“Durin’s beard,” he muttered strangely. “Mahal knows if I return without that thrice-damned game…”

“Oh, I know,” Bilbo empathized. “I have a little cousin.”

“I have a map,” Thorin said, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper and spreading it on the floor. “Now, the X marks the games section. I had the game in my hands, but…” Thorin broke off, shaking his head solemnly. “It was overrun. I knew I would not make it out of there alive.”

“Thorin,” Bilbo sighed, having grown exasperated with Thorin’s dramatics in the short time they had known each other.

“Fine,” the other man grumbled. “With the game intact, at least. I hid it behind one of the display TVs. I can only hope it is still there…” He looked off into the would-be distance, were there not a wall of shoe boxes blocking the view. Shaking his head as if to rid himself of traumatizing thoughts, his finger stabbed the paper. “We’re over here,” he said. “And we’ve got to go all the way around -”

“Uh, Thorin?” Bilbo interrupted. “That’s not where we are.”

Thorin’s stern expression fell at Bilbo’s words. “No,” he insisted. “This is the men’s shoe section.”

“No,” Bilbo countered, turning the map rightside-up. “You’ve been looking at it the wrong way.”

There was a prolonged silence as Thorin scrutinized the map, wide blue eyes searching the coloured blocks carefully.

“That...makes more sense,” he finally admitted.

“Wait, how long...have you been looking at it upside-down?” Bilbo asked.

Thorin looked away, but not before Bilbo caught his reddening cheeks. “That is irrelevant,” he muttered.

Bilbo stifled laughter as Thorin plotted a new, actually _accurate_ course for them. “The latest crowd has moved on, we’ve got to move now,” he continued.

Bilbo had to agree; they may not get such an opportunity again. Tugging on his jacket, he straightened his back. “I’m with you,” he vowed.

Thorin stared at him, lips pulled into a thin, solemn line. “Together, until the end.”

As they started pushing enough boxes away to make an exit, Bilbo put his hand on Thorin’s shoulder. “Let me go first,” he said.

“But Bilbo, it’s too dangerous!”

“Thorin,” he sighed, rolling his eyes. “I’m much smaller than you, I should scout the area first.”

“May Mahal watch over you,” the man swore, giving Bilbo’s hand a quick squeeze.

Bilbo flattened to his elbows and knees before crawling out of the tiny hole. The outside air was cool and fresh on his warm, sweat-tinged skin. But he could not enjoy the peace for long; the mission could not wait.

He soon returned to the fortress of crocs, whisper-shouting, “The coast is clear!”

The situation was ridiculous, truly, when one thought of it. A grown man, crawling out from a pile of shoeboxes as though he were battling barbed wire. Yet the scene somehow fit Thorin perfectly; as he stood to his full height, chin raised defiantly, he cut a rather majestic figure.

No, Bilbo was not swooning.

Thorin turned to him, giving a small, private smile before grabbing his hand and setting out.

Okay, maybe he swooned just a _little._

They crept back through the men’s department, slowed down by the large piles of clothes littering the floor. Thorin stopped at a pile of bags, rooting through until he found a backpack that looked fitting for a hike up Everest. “Buckle it up,” Thorin commanded as he adjusted the straps over his shoulders.

More than a little confused, Bilbo nevertheless did as told. “What is this for?” he asked.

“When we find the game, we will put it in here,” Thorin explained. “Most will just see a backpack, and anyone who wants it will find it impossible to rip off of me.”

Before this morning, Bilbo would have scoffed at a patron shopper trying to _rip_ a backpack off another person’s back.

But after today… he knew better.

The walk through the makeup counter in the middle of the store was like going through a ghost town. The once pristine white counters were covered in reds, blues, blacks, purples. The air was heavy with the scent of overly-sampled perfumes, and Thorin and Bilbo both had to cover their noses as they gagged at the scent.

Thorin ducked behind an abandoned makeup counter as they neared the end, pulling Bilbo down beside him. “The games section is just over there,” he whispered, pointing just ahead.

“Yes,” Bilbo agreed. “I can read the sign.”

“Listen to me,” Thorin whispered urgently, fingers closing over Bilbo’s hand. “The game is tucked behind a forty-five inch, plasma display, HDTV -”

“Thorin, you’re just speaking nonsense to me.”

The other man harrumphed. “Just check behind every TV.”

Bilbo nodded quickly, swallowing back his nerves. “Hey, Thorin?” he whispered, licking his lips as he looked up. “After this, do you maybe… want to grab a drink?”

Thorin smiled then, wide enough to bring a crinkle to the corner of his eyes. “If we get separated - meet me at the Green Dragon, 5 o’clock?”

Bilbo grinned, nodding with perhaps more force than necessary. But the moment was soon over, Thorin tugging Bilbo to his feet before the two made a dash for the TV section.

Thorin’s long legs quickly left a panting Bilbo behind. The other man went straight into the belly of the beast, using his large shoulders to push people out of his way. Bilbo knew he would never get through like that. Instead he jogged around the crowd, slipping into the department through an empty aisle near the back.

This was undoubtedly the most dangerous section - if a customer threw any of these products at your head, it would be a lot worse than a dull ache or a small scratch.

Most of the boxed televisions had already been taken, leaving only the ones on display. It appeared as though one person had been desperate enough to try taking a display TV, getting it a few feet away before realizing it had thick cord attaching it to the wall.

Bilbo snorted, delicately stepping around the abandoned electronic. He kept his eyes on the crowd, currently gathered around an overrun booth. Phones, probably, or perhaps those tablet-things Frodo was always talking about.

“Forty-five inch, forty-five inch,” Bilbo murmured to himself as he eyed the screens. It appeared he had started on the small, outdated side - likely why there had been a clear path. As the screens got bigger, more people were gathered around them.

Thirty-three inches… forty inches… “Ah-ha!” Bilbo exclaimed, only to duck behind a bin half-filled with headphones as a few people whipped around, gaze searching for anything of interest. He waited a few breaths, slowly easing his head around the corner. Oh, good - they had returned to piling their overflowing cart with even _more_ items.

Creeping forward, Bilbo slid his hands behind the flat screen. He tried to appear casual, as if he weren’t groping cold, hard plastic. His eyes widened as his fingers landed on a small, thin case. Pulling it out, his eyes danced over the title. “Yes!”

Shoving the item into his satchel, he turned around, brimming with excitement. Oh, the look on Thorin’s face!

“What have we got there, precious?”

Bilbo turned, coming face-to-face with a young, nervous-looking man. He was starkly pale, wringing his hands as his wide eyes narrowed in on Bilbo’s bag.

“Is it a game?” the man asked, taking a step forward. Bilbo stumbled back, wincing as he hit the hard shelf. “Oh, we like games - don’t we, precious?”

“I-I like games too,” Bilbo stammered, searching around for any sign of his friend. Looking back to the newcomer, he offered, “I have a riddle for you, actually. Would you like that?”

“Yes, yes, precious!” the man gasped, before falling into a fit of coughs. “Tell us, tell us!”

“A-a box without hinges, key, or lid,” Bilbo began, words excessively slow. “Yet golden treasure inside is -” A motion in the corner of his eye had Bilbo looking over. Thorin was partially hidden behind a shelf nearby, waving his arms. Bilbo nodded, discreetly patting his bag before turning to the young man. “Ah, right, golden treasure inside is hid!”

The man began muttering to himself, rubbing his hands as he thought it over. Thorin slowly crept over until his chest was pressed against Bilbo’s back. Reaching into his bag, Bilbo pulled out the game and slipped it into Thorin’s hand.

“Bilbo, come with me,” he urged.

Bilbo shook his head. “Go, Thorin. Green Dragon, 5 o’clock.”

Slowly stepping forward, he walked around until the other man was facing away from Thorin. With one last thankful nod, Thorin slipped away.

 

Bilbo had to suffer three more rounds of riddles before he was able to sneak off. He never thought he would be thankful for a mob of discount shoppers, but the crowd did a good job of separating him from his detainer.

He tried to search for Thorin at the checkout, but it was a maze of people yelling at him to “Get to the back of the line!” It was not long before he gave up, his growling stomach begging him to escape while he had a chance.

Once he was safe in his car, Bilbo heaved a sigh of relief. He texted Drogo, demanding his cousin pick up Primula. Drogo did not even bother putting up a fight; in fact, he was just relieved he didn’t have to go _inside_ with her.

Sending Primula a text letting her know the change in plans, he headed to the nearest cafe to fill his empty stomach.

 

Every few seconds, Bilbo glanced down at his watch. He was sure he made a comical sight to anyone watching, with his rumpled clothes and messy curls, gaze alternating between his watch and the door.

By fifteen past, Bilbo was onto his second beer, debating whether he should just order some food for himself.

Nose buried in a menu he had memorized years ago, he did not notice someone stop in front of his table. “Hello,” came a familiar voice.

Bilbo looked up, jaw dropping as he took Thorin in. The cut on his head had been properly cleaned, his hair combed and left to fall past his broad, thick, _broad_ shoulders. Bilbo swallowed, eyes slowly trailing down the man’s tight button-up shirt.

“Wow. You clean up well,” he managed to say, pulling at his poorly tied ascot.

“Thank you,” Thorin replied, gaze averting as he smiled lightly.

“I would have - well,” Bilbo sighed, gesturing to his worn outfit. “I didn’t think you’d be going home first, otherwise I would have -”

“You look perfect,” Thorin said, gesturing for Bilbo to sit once more.

It was his turn to blush, pulling a curl behind his ear as he smiled. “So, did you get it?”

Thorin’s head dipped. “I could not have done it without you,” he said.

Bilbo snorted, taking a sip of ale. “I see you’re still dramatic, even outside war-zone shopping.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [here!](airebellah.tumblr.com)


End file.
